Chapter 5

Ya Kessmas neet, or then aboot, When measons all were frozzen oot, I went to see a country friend, An hospitable hoor to spend. For gains, I cut across o' t' moor, Whoor t' snaw sea furiously did stoor.(1) The hoose I gain'd an' enter'd in, An' were as welcome as a king. The storm agean t' windey patter'd, An' hail-steans doon t' chimley clatter'd. All hands were in, an' seem'd content, An' nean did frost or snaw lament. T' lasses all were at their sewing, Their cheeks wiv health an' beauty glowing. Aroond the hearth, in cheerful chat, Twea or three friendly neighbours sat, Their travels telling, whoor they'd been, An' what they had beath heeard an' seen. Till yan did us all mich amuse, An' thus a story introduce. "I recollect lang saan,"(2) says he, "A story that were tell'd to me, At seems sea strange i' this oor day That true or false I cannot say. A man liv'd i' this neighbourhood, Nea doot of reputation good, An' lang taame strave wi' stiddy care, To keep his hoosehod i' repair. At length he had a curious dream, For three neets runnin' 't were the seame, At(3) if on Lunnon Brig he stood, He'd hear some news would dea him good, He labour'd hard, beath neet an' day, Tryin' to draave those thowts away; Yet daily grew mair discontent Till he at last to Lunnon went. Being quite a stranger to that toon, Lang taame he wander'd up an' doon, Till, led by some mysterious hand, On Lunnon Brig he teak his stand. An' there he waited day by day, An' just were boun(4) to coom away, Sea mich he thowt he were to bleame To gang sea far aboot a dream, When thus a man, as he drew near, Did say, "Good friend, what seek you here, Where I have seen you soon and late?" His dream tiv him he did relate. "Dreams," says the man, " are empty things, Mere thoughts that flit on silver'd wings; Unheeded we should let them pass. I've had a dream, and thus it was, That somewhere round this peopled ball, There's such a place as Lealholm Hall(5); Yet whether such a place there be, Or not, is all unknown to me. There in a cellar, dark and deep, Where slimy creatures nightly creep, And human footsteps never tread, There is a store of treasure hid. If it be so, I have no doubt, Some lucky wight will find it out. Yet so or not is nought to me, For I shall ne'er go there to see." The man did slyly twice or thrice The Cockney thenk for his advice; Then heame agean withoot delay He cherfully did tak his way. An' set aboot the wark, an' sped, Fun' ivvery thing as t' man had said; Were iver efter seen to flourish T' fanest gentleman iv all t' parish. Folks wonder'd sair, an' ,weel they might, Whoor he gat all his guineas bright. If it were true, i' spite o' fame, Tiv him it were a lucky dream."

1. Drive. 2. Long ago. 3. That. 4. Ready. 5. In the neighbourhood of Whitby.

The Milkin'-Time

J. H. Dixon (1803-1876)

Meet me at the fowd at the milkin'-time, Whan the dusky sky is gowd at the milkin'-time; Whan the fog(1) is slant(2) wi' dew, An' the clocks(3) go hummin' thro' The wick-sets(4) an' the branches of the owmerin'(5) yew.

Weel ye knaw the hour of the milkin'-time, The girt bell sounds frev t' tower at the milkin'-time; Bud as gowd sooin turns to gray, An' I cannot have delay, Dunnot linger by the way at the milkin'-time.

Ye'll find a lass at's true at the milkin'-time, Shoo thinks of nane bud you at the milkin'-time; Bud my fadder's gittin' owd, An' he's gien a bit to scowd, Whan I's ower lang at the fowd at the milkin'-time.

Happen ye're afeard at the milkin'-time; Mebbe loike ye've heerd at the milkin'-time The green fowk shak their feet, Whan t' moon on Heeside's breet, An' it chances so to-neet, at the milkin'-time.

There's yan, an' he knaws weel whan it's milkin'-time; He'd feace the varra de'il at the milkin'-time. He'd nut be yan to wait Tho' a barguest(6) war i' t' gate,(7) If the word I'd nobbud say 't at the milkin'-time.

1. Aftermath. 2. Wet. 3. Beetles 4. Quick-sets. 5. Overshadowing 6. The barguest is an apparition, taking usually the form of a big black dog with saucer eyes. 7. Way, road.

I Niver can call Her my Wife

Ben Preston (1819-1902)

I'm a weyver, ye knaw, an' awf deead, So I do all at iver I can To put away aat o' my heead The thowts an' the aims of a man. Eight shillin' i' t'wick's what I arn, When I've varry gooid wark an' full time, An' I think it's a sorry consarn For a fella at's just in his prime.

Bud aar maister says things is as weel As they have been or iver can be, An' I happen sud think so misel If he'd nobbud swop places wi' me. Bud he's welcome ta all he can get, I begrudge him o' noan of his brass, An' I'm nowt bud a madlin(1) to fret, Or to think o' yon beautiful lass.

I niver can call her my wife, My love I sal niver mak knawn, Yit the sarra that darkens her life Thraws its shadda across o' my awn. When I knaw at her heart is at eease, Theer is sunshine an' singin' i' mine; An' misfortunes may come as they pleease, Yit they seldom can mak me repine.

Bud that Chartist wor nowt bud a slope(2)-- I were fooild by his speeches an' rhymes, For his promises wattered my hope, An' I leng'd for his sunshiny times; Bud I feel at my dearest desire Within me 'll wither away; Like an ivy-stem trailin' i' t' mire, It's deein for t' want of a stay.

When I laid i' my bed day an' neet, An' were geen up by t' doctors for deead, God bless her! shoo'd coom wi' a leet An' a basin o' grewil an' breead. An' I once thowt I'd aat wi' it all, Bud so kindly shoo chatted an' smiled, I were fain to turn ovver to t' wall, An' to bluther an' roar like a child.

An' I said, as I thowt of her een, Each breeter for t' tear at were in 't, It's a sin to be niver forgeen, To yoke her to famine an' stint; So I'll e'en travel forrad throo life, Like a man throo a desert unknawn; I mun ne'er have a home nor a wife, Bud my sorras 'll all be my awn.

So I trudge on alone as I owt, An' whativer my troubles may be, They'll be sweetened, poor lass, wi' the thowt At I've niver browt trouble to thee. Yit a bird has its young uns to guard, A wild beast a mate in his den, An' I cannot bud think at it's hard­ Nay, deng it, I'm roarin' agen!

1. Fool 2. Impostor.

Come to thy Gronny, Doy(1)

Ben Preston

Come to thy gronny, doy, come to thy gronny, Bless thee, to me tha'rt as pratty as onny; Mutherlass barn of a dowter unwed, Little tha knaws, doy, the tears at I've shed; Trials I've knawn both for t' heart an' for t' heead, Shortness o' wark, ay, an' shortness o' breead.

These I could bide, bud tho' tha'rt noan to blame, Bless thee, tha browt me both sorra an' shame; Gronny, poor sowl, for a two month or more Hardly could feshion to lewk aat. o' t' door; T' neighbours called aat to me, "Dunnot stand that, Aat wi' that hussy an' aat wi' her brat."

Deary me, deary me! what could I say? T' furst thing of all, I thowt, let me go pray; T' next time I slept I'd a dream, do ye see, Ay, an' I knew at that dream were for me. Tears of Christ Jesus, I saw 'em that neet, Fall drop by drop on to one at His feet.

After that, saw Him wi' barns raand His knee, Some on 'em, happen, poor crayturs like thee; Says I at last, though I sorely were tried, Surely a sinner a sinner sud bide; Neighbours may think or may say what they will, T' muther an' t' dowter sal stop wi' me still.

Come on 't what will, i' my cot they sal caar,(2) Woe be to them at maks bad into waar(3); Some fowk may call thee a name at I hate, Wishin' fra t' heart tha were weel aat o' t' gate; Oft this hard world into t' gutter 'll shove thee, Poor little lamb, wi' no daddy to love thee.

Dunnot thee freeat, doy, whol granny hods up, Niver sal tha want a bite or a sup; What if I work these owd fingers to t' boan, Happen tha'll love me long after I'm goan; T' last bite i' t' cupboard wi' thee I could share't, Hay! bud tha's stown(4) a rare slice o' my heart.

Spite of all t' sorra, all t' shame at I've seen, Sunshine comes back to my heart throo thy een; Cuddle thy gronny, doy, Bless thee, tha'rt bonny, doy, Rosy an' sweet fra thy braa to thy feet, Kingdoms an' craans wodn't buy thee to-neet.

1 Darling. 2. Cower, take shelter. 3. Worse. 4. Stolen.

Owd Moxy

Ben Preston

Owd Moxy wrowt hard for his morsil o' breead, An' to keep up his courage he'd sing, Tho' Time wi' his scythe hed mawn t' crop on his heead An' then puffed it away wi' his wing.

Reight slavish his labour an' little his wage, His path tuv his grave were bud rough, Poor livin' an' hardships, a deal more nor age, Hed swealed(1) daan his can'le to t' snuff.

One cowd winter morn, as he crept aat o' bed, T' owd waller felt dizzy an' sore:- "Come, frame(2) us some breykfast, Owd Duckfooit, he said, "An' I'll finish yond fence up at t' moor;

"I'll tew(3) like a brick wi' my hammer an' mall,(4) An' I'll bring home my honey to t' hive, An' I'll pay t' bit o' rent an' wer(5) shop-score an' all, An' I'll dee aat o' debt if I live."

So Peg made his pobs(6) an' then futtered(7) abaat, An' temm'd(8) him his tea into 't can, Then teed up some bacon an' breead in a claat, For dearly shoo liked her owd man.

Then Moxy set aat on his wearisome way, Wadin' bravely throo t' snaw-broth i' t' dark; It's a pity when fellas at's wakely an' grey Hes to walk for a mile to their wark.

Bud summat that mornin' made Moxy turn back, Tho' he hardly knew what it could meean, So, cudlin' Owd Peggy, he gave her a smack, An' then started for t' common ageean.

All t' day a wild hurricane wuther'd(9) throo t' glen, An' then rush'd like a fiend up to t' heeath; An' as Peggy sat knittin' shoo said tuv hersen, "Aw dear! he'll be starruv'd to t' deeath."

An' shoo felt all that day as shoo'd ne'er felt afore, An' shoo dreeaded yit hunger'd for neet ; When harknin' an' tremlin' shoo heeard abaat t' door A mutterin, an' shufflin o' feet.

Five minutes at after,(10) Owd Peg, on her knees, Were kussin' a forehead like stone; An' to t' men at stood by her wi' tears i' their ees, Shoo said, "Go, lads, an' leave me alone."

When they straightened his body, all ready for t' kist,(11) It were seen at he'd thowt of his plan; For t' shop-score an' t' rent war safe locked in his fist, So he deed aat o' debt, like a man.

1. Melted. 2. Prepare. 3. Toil. 4. Mallet. 5. Our. 6. Porridge. 7. Bustled. 8. Poured. 9. Roared. 10. Afterwards, 11. Coffin.

Dean't mak gam o' me (1875)

Florence Tweddell

I went last week to Stowslay(1) Fair, My sweetheart for to see; She promis'd she would meet me there- Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I rigg'd misel' all i' my best, As fine as fine could be; An' little thowt how things would to'n(2); Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I walk'd to t' toon, an' bowt a cane, To cut a dash, ye see; An' how I swagger'd up an' doon! Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I thowt, if nobbut Poll would come, How happy we sud be! I'd treat her into t' penny show, Bud dean't mak gam o' me : Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

At last I saw her coomin' in; Bud what else did I see? Jack Hodge was walkin' biv her saade! Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

Stright up I went, an' "Poll!" says I, "I's waiting, lass, for thee!" "Then thoo mun wait!" was all she said, Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

She teak Jack's airm, an' there I stead Quite flabbergash'd, ye see: I thowt I sud hav dropt to t' grund, Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

Poor Nancy Green com seaglin'(3) up, "What's matter, Dick?" says she: "Jack Hodge is off wi' Poll!" says I, Bud dean't mak gam o' me: Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

"Why, niver maand her; let her gan ; She's better gean!" said she: Bud I thowt nut; an' then I cried, Bud dean't mak gam o' me : Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I's nobbut a poor country lad At's lost my heart, ye see: I'll gan nea mair to t' Pomesun Fair,(4) Sea dean't mak gam o' me : Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

1. Stokesley. 2. Turn out. 3. Sauntering. 4. The fair held at Stokesley on the Saturday before Palm Sunday

Coom, stop at yam to-neet Bob

Florence Tweddell

"Coom, stop at yam(1) to-neet, Bob, Dean't gan oot onnywhere: Thoo gets thisel t' leeast vex'd, lad, When thou sits i' t' awd airm-chair.

"There's Keat an' Dick beath want thee To stop an' tell a teale: Tak little Keatie o' thy knee, An' Dick 'll sit on t' steal.

"Let's have a happy neet, Bob, Tell all t' teales thoo can tell; For givin' pleeasure to the bairns Will dea thee good thisel.

"I knaw it's sea wi' me, Bob, For oft when I've been sad, I've laik'd an' laugh'd wi' them, mon, Untel my heart's felt glad.

"An' sing that laatle sang, Bob, Thoo used to sing to me, When oft we sat at t' river saade, Under t' awd willow tree.

"What happy taames them was, Bob, Thoo niver left me then To gan to t' yal-hoose neet be neet Amang all t' drunken men.

"I does my best for thoo, Bob, An' thoo sud dea t' seame for me: Just think what things thoo promised me Asaade t' awd willow tree!"

"I prithee say nea mair, lass, I see I ain't dean reet; I'll think of all thoo's said to me, An' stop at yam to-neet."

"I'll try to lead a better life- I will, an' that thoo'll see! Fra this taame fo'th I'll spend my neets At yam, wi' t' bairns an' thee!"

1. Home.

Ode to t' Mooin

J. H. Eccles (1824-1883)

I like to see thy quaint owd face Lewk softly daan on me, E'en though I ne'er could find thy nose Nor catch thy watchful ee.

Full monny times I've seen thee rise, When busy day were done, When daan behint t' owd maantain tops Had passed t' breet evenin' sun.

I like to see thee when sweet spring Cooms back to hill an' vale; When odours rise through t' hawthorn bush, An' float on t' evenin' gale.

When lovers walk on t' primrose benks, An' whisper soft an' low; Dreamin' just same as me an' t' wife Did monny years ago.

I like to see thee when t' June rose Is wet wi' fallin' dew, When t' nightingale maks t' owd woods ring Wi' music fresh an' new

When fairies dance on t' top o' t' flaars An' roam through t' pleasant dells, Like monarchs i' their marble halls, I' t' lilies' virgin bells.

I like to see thee when t' ripe corn Is wavin' to an' fro; When t' squirril goes a-seekin' nuts An' jumps thro' bough to bough.

When t' purple heather covers t' hills, An' t' hunters, tired and worn, Back through the fairy-haunted glens Unto their homes return.

I like to see thee when all raand Is white wi' drivven snow, When t' streams are stopp'd by owd Jack Frost An' foaks slip as they go.

I like to see thee all t' year raand, When t' sky is fair an' breet, An' allus hail wi' fond delight The noble queen o' t' neet.

I used to think at I could reach Up to thy face wi' ease, If I had but a big long stick; For tha were but green cheese.

But naa I've got far different thowts, An' learnt to understand At tha art one o' t' wondrous works Formed by t' gert Maker's hand.

Aunt Nancy

J. H. Eccles

Aunt Nancy's one o' t' savin' sort, At niver lets t' chonce pass; Yet wouldn't do owt mean or low For t' sake o' gettin' t' brass.

Her home's as clean as need be seen, Whoiver may go in; An' as for Nancy, dear-a-me! Shoo's like a new-made pin.

Shoo's full o' thrift an' full o' sense, An' full o' love beside; Shoo rubs an' scrubs thro' morn to neet An' maks t' owd haase her pride.

Her husband, when his wark is doon, Sits daan i' t' owd arm chair ; Forgets his troubles as he owt, An' loises all his care.

Wi' pipe an' book i' t' chimley nook Time flies on noiseless wing; Shoo sits an' knits wi' pleasant face, He's happy as a king.

Wi' tattlin' folks shoo's niver seen I' alley, loin(1) or street, But goes her way wi' modest step, Exact an' clean an' neat.

Her neighbours soomtimes watch her aat, An' say shoo's praad an' stiff; But all their gossip cooms to nowt, Aunt Nancy's reight enif.

Wi' basket oft shoo walks abroad To some poor lonely elf; To ivery one shoo knaws t' reight way At's poorer nor(2) herself.

Shoo niverr speyks o' what shoo gives, Kind, gentle-hearted sowl; I' charity her hands find wark, Shoo's good alike to all.

He niver tells her what he thinks, Nor flatters nor reproves; His life is baand wi' gowlden bands To t' woman at he loves.

God bless her, shoo's a dimond breet, Both good i' mind an' heart; An angel spreeadin' light an' love, That plays a noble part.

Shoo's worthy of a monarch's choice, Her worth can ne'er be towld ; Shoo cam to mak folks' hearts feel glad, Shoo's worth her weight i' gowld.

1 Lane. 2 Than.

Coom, don on thy Bonnet an' Shawl (1867)

Thomas Blackah

Coom, don on thy bonnet an' shawl, An' straighten thy cap an' thy hair; I's really beginnin' to stall(1) To see thee sit dazzin'(2) i' t' chair.

Sea coom, let us tak a walk oot, For t' air is as warm as a bee; I hennot(3) a morsel o' doot It'll help beath lile Willy an' thee.

We'll gan reet throo t' Middle Toon, As far as to Reavensgill Heead(4); When thar, we can sit wersens doon On t' crags close at side o' t' becksteead.

An' then, oh! hoo grand it'll be To pass a few minutes away, An' listen t' birds sing on each tree Their carols for closin' the day.

An' all aboot t' green nobby hills, T' lile daisies their beauties will show; An' t' perfume at Flora distils Like breath o' the mornin' will blow.

Then don on thy bonnet an' shawl, An' coom let's be walkin' away; I's fairly beginnin' to stall To see thee sit dazzin' all t' day.

1 Grow tired. 2. Dozing. 3. Have not. 4. Near Pateley Bridge.

My awd hat

Thomas Blackah

I'll wear thee yet awhile, awd hat, I'll wear thee yet awhile; Though time an' tempest, beath combined, Have changed thy shap an' style. For sin we two togither met, When thoo were nice an' new, What ups an' doons i' t' world we've had, Bud awlus braved 'em through.

That glossy shade o' thine, awd hat, That glossy shade o' thine, At graced thy youthful days is gean, Which maks me noo repine. Fra monny a gleam an' monny a shoor Thoo's sheltered my awd heead; Bud sean a smarter, tider hat Will shelter 't i' thy steead.

Though friends have proved untrue, awd hat, Though friends have proved untrue, An' vanished in adversity, Like mist or mornin' dew; Yet when fierce storms or trials com I fand a friend i' thee; Sea noo, when thoo's far on, awwd hat, Thoo 'st finnd a friend i' me.

Some nail or crook 'll be thy heame O' t' joists, or back o' t' door; Or, mebbe, thoo'l be bunched(1) aboot Wi' t' barns across o' t' floor. When t' rain an' t' wind coom peltin' through Thy crumpled, battered croon, I'll cut thee up for soles to wear I' my awd slender shoon.

1. Kicked

Reeth Bartle Fair(1) (1870)

John Harland

This mworning as I went to wark, I met Curly just coomin' heame; He had on a new flannin sark(2) An' he saw at I'd just gitten t' seame. "Whar's te been?" said awd Curly to me. "I've been down to Reeth Bartle Fair." "Swat(3) te down, mun, sex needles,"(4) said he, An' tell us what seets te saw there."

"Why, t' lads their best shoon had put on, An' t' lasses donn'd all their best cwoats; I saw five pund of Scotch wether mutton Sell'd by Ward and Tish Tom for five grwoats. Rowlaway had fine cottons to sell, Butteroy lace an' handkerchers browt; Young Tom Cwoats had a stall tuv hissel, An' had ribbins for varra near nowt.

"Thar was Enos had good brandy-snaps, Bill Brown as good spice as could be; Potter Robin an' mair sike-like chaps Had t' bonniest pots te could see. John Ridley, an' awd Willy Walls, An' Naylor, an' twea or three mar, Had apples an' pears at their stalls, An' Gardener Joe tea was thar.

"Thar was scissors an' knives an' read(5) purses, An' plenty of awd cleathes on t' nogs,(6) An' twea or three awd spavin'd horses, An' plenty o' shoon an' new clogs. Thar was plenty o' good iron pans, An' pigs at wad fill all t' deale's hulls(7); Thar was baskets, an skeps, an' tin cans, An' bowls, an' wood thivles for gulls.(8)

"Thar was plenty of all maks(9) o' meat, An' plenty of all sworts o' drink, An' t' lasses gat monny a treat, For t' gruvers(10) war all full o' chink. I cowp'd(11) my black hat for a white un, Lile Jonas had varra cheap cleath; Jem Peacock an' Tom talk'd o' feightin', But Gudgeon Jem Puke lick'd 'em beath.

"Thar was dancin' an' feightin' for ever, Will Wade said at he was quite griev'd; An' Pedlety tell'd 'em he'd never Forgit 'em as lang as he leev'd. They knock'd yan another about, Just warse than a sham to be seen, Charlie Will look'd as white as a clout, Kit Puke gat a pair o' black een.

"I spied our awd lass in a newk, Drinkin' shrub wi' grim Freesteane, fond lad; I gav her a varra grow(12) leuk; O, connies,(13) but I was just mad. Sea I went to John Whaites's to drink, Whar I war'd(14) twea an' seempence i' gin; I knaw not what follow'd, but think I paddl'd through t' muck thick an' thin.